


not hiding but waiting

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Coulson thinks Skye is the best thing since sliced bread, Coulson's pov, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Holding Hands, I don't know why I wrote this, Older Man/Younger Woman, Short One Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vignette, it's just some silly bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He has never thought of himself as an old man before. Mostly it doesn't bother him. Mostly.</i> </p><p>Or, it's Coulson's birthday and it's up to Skye to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not hiding but waiting

Coulson is hiding from his own birthday party and even he thinks that's weird.

He hadn't meant to. He told the team he had to make a quick phone call and when he arrived upstairs he discovered he had lied to them, without meaning to. There was no phone call. He had just wanted to get away.

He finds himself sitting at the bar, but he's not drinking anything.

He's not sure what's wrong with him.

He appreciates the efforts of his team, the true affection they showed in throwing him a party. Up until the moment when he _had_ to leave, he was enjoying himself. He's always been good at parties. He was finding FitzSimmons' overlapping Academy anecdotes delightful, even, and that's a first. It's not that he was having a bad time, it's not.

And it's not exactly that he wants to be alone, because he doesn't. That at least he knows.

"You are hiding from your own birthday party," Skye points out when she finds him, because of course she is the one given the task. "That's weird."

“I'm not hiding.”

She regards him with suspicion. "What is it? What is bringing you down? Is it our party, so haphazardly put together? Is it because Ward picked the cake? Or... Could it be the significance of the date?"

"Ah, the significance of the date," he repeats, sharing an amused look with her. "Well, it is hard to look at it and deny the evidence: I'm actually _old_."

He doesn't mean to sound so self-pitying; it's just that he has never thought of himself as an old man before. Mostly it doesn't bother him. Mostly.

Skye looks taken aback by his comment. "Aw, don't say that. A.C. is _timeless_."

It's not just a joke, he realizes, she means it. Of course she means it.

"Do you usually not like birthdays?" she asks, sitting next to him. She's all tact about it, though, in case she's hit a nerve. She hasn't, but Coulson finds her concern comforting in its own way.

"I've never given the matter much thought, to be honest."

"Quickly, don't think about it: Favorite birthday you've ever had?"

"I was twelve. The backyard of our house. My mother hired a magician."

He's surprised by his own swift reply. He doesn't talk about those years, he doesn't talk about these things with anyone, _ever_.

"A magician?"

"I thought magicians were cool."

"What a dork."

"Do you have a favorite birthday?"

"Twenty-one. Memphis. And that, sir, is all I'm going to say about the subject."

He chuckles. He makes a mental note to ask her again in the future; or maybe make some inquires to see if there's a search warrant somewhere in Tennessee under one of Skye's many aliases. Suddenly he feels quite cheerful, whatever was wrong with him before has vanished. It occurs to him that maybe he wasn't so much hiding as waiting for Skye. Not that he was doing it on purpose, of course. And that is not a line of thought he feels it's safe to pursue – specially today. 

"Hey, I know why you are not enjoying this birthday," she says. He arches one eyebrow. "You haven't received any gift yet."

He knows where this is going. "You don't have to–"

But she's already digging into the inside pocket of her denim jacket.

"No, actually I do. I mean I've been waiting for a chance – I'm glad you are hiding from your party, I wanted to get you alone for this."

She sounds nervous.

He accepts the little box she pushes in front of him. He unwraps it quickly, the weight of Skye's expectant gaze on his hands and face a little too much to bear.

He looks at the object twice, three times, before he knows for certain. It's not really possible but the details check out: Wristwatch. Walkie-talkie. Pre-WWII. _Polish_.

“Skye, _how_ –?”

She moves closer to him, leaning to look at the watch together, arms and shoulders touching his.

"You said they only made twenty of these,” she tells him. “They made twenty-one, actually. Though this is number fourteen."

"How did you find this?"

"A hacktivist never reveals her sources." She's too light about it.

"This costs a fortune."

"Oh, well."

"Skye, I know how much money you have. You can't afford this. Have you acquired it through less than reputable means?"

It's not like he wants to offend her, but he knows her well enough by now.

"Hey, not cool. Though sixty-percent accurate so I'll let it pass. And you don't know how much money I have, _exactly_. I could have savings!"

He shakes his head. He puts the watch back in the box.

"I can't accept this, it's too much. If anything let me buy it off you."

She looks down at her hands, lips pursed into a distressed expression. Her shoulders fall in a tense line.

"Please, sir, don't humiliate me. I wanted to do this for you. I really, really _wanted_. It means a lot to me."

Her voice is horrible; embarrassed and disappointed. He watches her face, hair fallen in front of her eyes as she very purposely avoids looking up at him, in case he insists on rejecting her gift. Of course he is not going to reject her. He has to crane his neck to reach her, leaning into her, the watch between them. He kisses her cheek, a brief brush of his lips across her soft skin, and Skye freezes. 

"Thank you," he whispers into her hair.

Finally she looks up. She _glows_ at him; no one else does that for him, only Skye. Coulson finds himself completely at odds about what to feel.

"See?" Skye says, smug. "Already worth what I paid for it."

The noise he makes is halfway a laugh and a frustrated sigh. 

He takes the watch in his hand again, turns it in his palm a couple of times, appreciating the craftsmanship put into assembling it.

“It's beautiful.”

Skye plucks it from him and then she grabs his forearm between her thumb and index, twisting gently until his hand rests palm side up on the table. Then she slips the watch until it's settled around his wrist, locking the clasp carefully. He lets her and stares intently at the process, mesmerized by the feather-like contact of her fingertips over his sensitive skin, over his pulse. For a moment he's glad he's not wearing his usual agency-issued watch right now (it's late, there was a party) or she would have had to take that one off him first. Skye turns his hand over again, adjusts the strap a little bit further up his arm.

“Nice,” she says, admiringly, when she finishes and he is wearing the wristwatch.

This is not what you are meant to do with a collector's item like this one, but Coulson realizes that maybe he has been too careful all his life. Well, it looks good on his wrist, and it feels good, and he glances from it and back to Skye and fine, Coulson is a pretty smart guy, he understands his own metaphors.

It's kind of inconvenient, because it's his birthday and now he's _officially old_.

Skye draws a long, audible breath, like she's preparing herself for something.

"I know how much your collection means to you," she says. "I know it's silly but I wanted to be a small part of that."

He looks at her. Sometimes Coulson thinks she must a practical joke someone is pulling on him; like she's too good to be fucking real. He moves his hand (the one wearing the watch) to cover hers. He almost pulls away when he feels her body tense under his touch but then, in a second, her fingers relax and she presses her knuckles into his palm shyly, welcoming the gesture. This is definitely not what he thought he would be doing on his birthday. At least not _this birthday_ , that's for sure.

"It's not silly," he tells her.

She nods, looking slightly awkward and uncomfortable. But she doesn't take her hand from under his.

"Do you want to get back to the party? Try the cake?" she asks.

It's his party so he decides it's okay to behave a bit selfishly.

"Let's just stay here a moment," he says, but he's really asking her. If she wants to go back, he'll follow.

But she doesn't want to go back. She's grinning.

“Sure.”

She flexes her hand, making room so that he can properly entwine his fingers with hers, and suddenly they are not just touching hands, they are holding hands. It's too small a gesture to draw a definitive conclusion from it, for both of them, but he's in no hurry, which is ironic considering the significance of the date. Maybe by this time next year he will have it figured out – how to be older but less careful.

He likes the weight of the watch on his wrist. Maybe Skye was right; the problem was that he hadn't received his gift yet.

And he admits it, he _is_ hiding from his own birthday party, but it's okay, it's not weird, because now he's not alone.


End file.
